Words
by Slaughter Daughter
Summary: Human. Masochist. Vampire. Sadist. Monster. Killer. Pravus- Words, they were all just words...


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Vladimir Tod, it belongs to the wonderful mind of Auntie Heather ;}**

**Rating: PG-13, maybe R depending on the person I guess?… **

**Warnings: Self-Harm. Blood. Spoiler if you haven't read Eleventh Grade Burns.**

**Story type: One-Shot.**

**Story title: Words**

**A/N: I started to re-read Eleventh Grade Burns tonight and this just popped into my head. And just so everyone knows this takes place before Freedom Fest and before Vlad sees his father. ^-^**

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_Human._

_Masochist._

_Vampire._

_Sadist._

_Monster._

_Killer._

_Pravus…_

Words- they were all just words. Words that haunted Vladimir every time he shut his eyes- words that plagued his brain, leaving a deathly whisper of what he was to the world around him. This was how the world's population viewed him. But no matter how you rephrased it, no matter how hard you tried to sugarcoat it, it always came to mean the same thing; _freak. _That's what he was. _That's what you are… _he thought to himself, staring unblinkingly into the bathroom mirror, his once completely silver eyes, now holding a hint of purple- neither one color, or the other, simply a mixture of what he was. "_Freak,_" he whispered aloud, letting his eyes that were still stuck in some sick form of limbo, scan over his pale features, then coming to land on the abused flesh of his chest and abdomen.

It was true that the ceremonial dagger D'Ablo had tried to use on him, yet again, was broken, but Vlad had soon found out that just because it was broken, didn't mean it couldn't still do damage. Some of its properties were still intact- it couldn't be used to strip him of his 'Pravus' status, but when Vlad used it, it always made the cuts linger longer than they would have, had he used an average knife.

The cuts would stay for days- some even left tiny scars before they completely healed. It was something he discovered one night before they left for Otis's trial. He had to pretend like he was okay; he had to be strong like Otis and Vikas. But the reality of the situation caught up with him, as he shut himself up in his bathroom, back sliding down the door as he began to tremble, his eyes prickling as tears flowed out despite his best efforts to keep them at bay.

He blinked profusely, darting his eyes around the room before they settled on something he'd forgotten about. And that's when he saw it. He saw it laying there, the blade gleaming slightly in the bathroom light, the handle of the blade since been broken off. He stared at it, biting into his bottom lip harshly, drawing blood, which he quickly licked away, his fangs beginning to make they're presence known. Crawling on his hands and knees, he wandered over to it, picking the lone blade up, and held the flat end between his shaking fingers. He wasn't sure why he'd left it in there, but as he gazed at it, a dismal look on his face, he decided to do what his frenzied emotions were screaming at him to.

Stripping himself of his shirt, he stood, blade in hand, making his way to stand in the shower. Once there he did something he thought that he'd never, ever do; he took the blade and made the first timid cut, slicing straight across his stomach, reveling at the feel of his skin tearing open by his own hand. He took a sharp intake of breath, repeating the action, only this time; he did it deeper.

The next day he awoke to find that the marks were still there. He couldn't believe his eyes- his healing had become so rapidly fast recently that he assumed the gashes would have vanished almost as soon as they were made, but they hadn't. And ever since that night, he'd done something that he just couldn't bring himself to regret- he did the only thing that ever made him feel; _normal._

Though Vlad knew this wasn't true, when he gazed upon his angry red marks and his fresh gashes that were still oozing blood, he felt normal, if only for a fleeting second, he felt what normalcy was like. This earths population would never really accept him. He wasn't fully human, but he wasn't a full-fledged vampire, either. He didn't know what exactly he was. He just knew that he didn't belong, either way.

Otis's trial had long since passed, and now he had to prepare for his own sentence. His own where he would die. It wasn't fair- it wasn't fair that they could do this to him just because he was different, just because they didn't know what he was, what he truly was. They were afraid, afraid of what he would do when he grew up, so they decided that he wouldn't get that chance- that he wouldn't become the thing that they all feared so much.

They didn't care that he was going to die before he even got to see the age of seventeen. It was as if that they didn't realize that he had feelings- it was as if they didn't feel, themselves, at all. The council was a bunch of corrupt, egotistical, power-hungry, vampires who thought that they knew everything, and were only out for themselves. He despised them all.

Gingerly- he brushed his fingertips along his torso, his eyes flittering closed as a finger pushed into a particularly deep wound. He controlled his breathing, wanting to stay calm, despite the fact that his gashes burned ablaze from his constant prodding- wanting so badly this time for there to be permanent scars.

Retracting his index finger from the wound, he peered at the now bloodied digit with a deranged sort of fascination, a single tear falling from beneath his dark lashes, as he thought of how truly unwell his mental state had become. Slowly, he brought his finger closer to his mouth, until his lips closed around it and he sucked the ruby red substance off- cringing a little at the rich, yet bitter taste, of his very own blood. 'Unwell', he thought, was an understatement.

No one had noticed yet- Vlad found this ironic, considering how his friends and family used to be so aware of his emotions- now it seemed that they weren't worrying about his metal well being, but focusing on his physical one instead. Which he understood, he did, and if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he preferred it this way. No one needed to know- it wasn't their business, and he didn't need the reactions he knew that would accompany the knowledge of his supposed 'self-loathing habit'. He couldn't take the anger, sadness, sympathy, pity, and his least favorite of all; judgment. He'd had enough of this world's judgment to last him a lifetime, hell, maybe even two and he didn't want anymore. Besides, he wouldn't be in this godforsaken place much longer- not if the council had anything to say about it.

His uncle's efforts to keep him alive were futile. But his uncle Otis- who he loved like a father, refused to give up until he was cleared of all these unjust charges- Vladimir would be forever grateful to him for that, wherever he ended up going after death, he would look for Otis and know- know that his uncle loved him and did everything in his power to set him free.

Sighing, his eyelids began to droop, his head feeling slightly dizzy from blood loss. Wandering over to the bathtub with half lidded eyes, he turned on the faucet, making sure the water was nearly scalding hot, then letting it fill up until the water almost reached the top of the tub. Cutting the faucet off, he stripped himself of his boxers and stepped into the bath. Lowering the rest of his body in, he hissed as the steaming water came in contact with his battered stomach and chest.

He watched with tired eyes as his blood began to leisurely taint the once clean bathwater with ruby red, then leant his head back against the tiled wall- allowing his tears to stream out of they're own accord. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he felt his fangs poking the tender flesh that resided there. He swallowed as blood drizzled down his throat, his eyes shutting, though, he was still crying, and he was finally able to fall into a restless sleep- his last conscious thought of how he was set to die in a little less than four days… and knowing that the only brightside was that when he died, he would finally be with his mother and father, and his family would be complete once more, without any harsh words to make him feel this way ever again.

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**AN: How'd I do? First one-shot I've done in a little while and first Vladimir Tod fic I've done that's not a crossover. O.e**


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